Not Playing By the Rules
by elbcw
Summary: The gunshot was loud in the stone cellar. Unusually, he jumped at the sound. D'Artagnan used to jump at the sound of gunfire, but he had been a Musketeer long enough for it not to affect him any more. But not this time. This time he flinched.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

'You will be interrogated. We will have the information from you.'

The man at the bars looked at each of them in turn. He appeared to be deciding something. They remained silent staring back at him. After a few seconds, he nodded and walked away. The two men with guns that had been trained on them followed the man, closing the door behind them. The sound of a bolt being drawn across the last thing they heard.

The four of them had been roughly dragged into the cellar and pushed into the room, one wall of which was made up of strong looking metal bars. A corridor outside led to a few steps and the door the men had left by to the right and what looked like further cells to the left. They were prisoners of the men who had taken them.

It had been an efficient attack. They had been vigilant but the group, disguised as peasants had fooled them. Producing guns from under their cloaks and quickly gaining control of the four of them. The usual tactic of playing them off against each other had been employed. They allowed themselves to be blindfolded. Their horses were led along the road for a few minutes before they were ordered to dismount and pushed along over uneven ground. The blindfolds were pulled off them as they were forced down a few steps and into the cell where they were currently stood.

Aramis looked at his brothers, none of them appeared to be harmed. D'Artagnan was absentmindedly rubbing his arm where he had no doubt been firmly held. Porthos had walked up to the bars and was tugging at each one in turn. Athos was carefully looking over the walls of their prison.

'We ain't getting out easy,' concluded Porthos after a few minutes.

'I think,' said Aramis, 'we might not be getting out at all from this one.'

Athos sighed, 'you may be correct. But let's not give up just yet.'

Aramis had said what they were all thinking, but Athos was correct, he was perhaps being a little pessimistic.

'I thought I would die in battle,' remarked d'Artagnan as he moved to sit on the floor at the back of the cell shifting a little to get comfortable.

'We'd all 'ave preferred that,' said Porthos who joined him on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him.

Aramis stood for a few moments at the barred door looking at the lock. He glanced back at Porthos who shook his head. Aramis knew his friend would have checked if he could pick the lock already.

'I was supposed to be seeing Constance tomorrow.'

'She'll understand,' said Aramis with a slight smile, 'dying for your country is a noble way to go.'

Porthos huffed, 'in battle would 'ave been better...What will they do? Torture? All of us, one of us?'

'I doubt we will have to wait long. The information is obviously important to them,' said Athos. 'I suspect they have only left us alone for a few minutes so that we can speculate upon our end.'

Athos finished his careful inspection of the cell. He stood in the centre of the room for a few seconds gathering his thoughts. Aramis knew what he was going to say, they all did. He did not need to say it.

'We have to hold out. Regardless of what they do, we cannot give into them.'

Athos looked at each of them in turn. Each man nodded. They were prepared to die to keep the information safe, but more than that, they were prepared to watch each other die to keep the information safe. That would be the harder option for them each. They did not know what was in store for them, but if their treatment up to that point was anything to go by it was not going to be pleasant.

The men had already threatened each of them to get the others to comply. When they had first been taken a gun had been pushed firmly into the back of Athos' head when Porthos had started to complain about their treatment. And Aramis had quickly stopped complaining when d'Artagnan had been tripped to the ground and a dagger pressed to the back of his neck.

Before they had been locked up there had been hope that one or all of them might have escaped. Now that hope was rapidly diminishing. Aramis looked through the bars at the heavy wooden door the men had retreated through. Wherever they were was solidly built, even if Porthos had been able to pick the lock they would probably have been overpowered as soon they got through the wooden door. If they had got through the wooden door.

They had important information that was sought by the men. The information was such that they would willingly die to keep it safe. It was unfortunate, thought Aramis, that the information was not going to reach each its intended recipient. But it was better for it to be lost with their deaths, than to fall into the wrong hands.

Aramis knew they would do everything they could to stay alive, but their lives were not as important. He could not foresee them all leaving the cell alive. It saddened him, but there was also an inevitability to it. None of them ever expected to die of old age. Although as d'Artagnan had said, dying on the battlefield was somewhat nobler than potentially being tortured to death.

The bolt on the heavy door was drawn back. Aramis stepped back from the barred wall of the cell to stand with his brothers. D'Artagnan and Porthos had pushed themselves up to stand. They all glanced at one another, a silent show of solidarity between them.

The man, Aramis guessed he was a little older than himself, walked down the steps. He was followed by the two gunmen again. They trained their weapons through the bars. A further three men had also accompanied them. All the men were armed with guns and daggers.

Each of the Musketeers had been carefully disarmed when they were captured, the men had been thorough with their searches even checking their boots.

One of the men opened the cell door, the leader stepped in front of the opening and looked at them all carefully again. He nodded towards Aramis before stepping back. The three newcomers stepped into the cell, one of them held a gun towards d'Artagnan whilst the two men outside the cell had theirs trained on Athos and Porthos.

Two men advanced on Aramis who unconsciously took a couple of steps back. He knew if he fought the men one of his brothers was likely to be hurt. The leader knew what he was doing, he knew that the Musketeers would not want to contribute to the decision to harm one another.

Aramis was grabbed and forced out of the cell. He was dragged out of sight of the others, into the next cell. His heart beating fast as he was forced to kneel on the stone floor and held firmly by the two men. He heard the door to the cell where his brothers were still being held clang shut. The key was turned in the lock. Aramis was fairly sure he was the only one who would be receiving any attention to start with. His mind raced as he tried to work out what they would do. The room he was in was bare, there were no torturous devices, nothing that could be used to hurt him. Was he just to receive a beating from the men?

He looked towards the leader who had stepped back from the barred wall of his brother's cell. The man looked towards him for a few seconds before glancing at one of the men with the guns. The man nodded and moved across to Aramis, raising the weapon as he walked. The man aimed the gun at the back of Aramis' head, he could feel the barrel of the pistol close to his skin. He would not survive the shot when it was fired.

Aramis realised he was not the one being interrogated, he was the one being used to encourage the others to talk. Aramis knew the other would not talk, they could not. The information was too important.

'Talk now or he dies,' said the leader.

The simple request was met with silence. Aramis could well imagine what his brothers would be doing. They would each of them be glaring at the man, but they would each continue to remain silent.

Aramis began to pray.

MMMM

D'Artagnan had been wistfully thinking about how many children he would have liked to have with Constance. He could imagine her ruling a brood, gently admonishing where necessary and probably telling him off if he ever spoiled them.

He guessed he would never know what it would be like. Constance was back in Paris, never to be his wife, never to be the mother of his children. He hoped she would not mourn him too much. He knew she would be upset, but he hoped she would move on from him.

When the heavy wooden door was opened, he and Porthos scrambled up to stand. They did not want to give the impression that they had simply given up.

The leader of the men appeared at the barred door. He was accompanied by five other men. They were all capable looking. D'Artagnan guessed they were mercenaries, and they were being well paid by the looks of them. None of them wore old clothes or boots. Each man's weapons gleamed, care had been taken of them. D'Artagnan wondered what had happened to the men to turn them from soldiers to mercenaries. Were they disillusioned by the work they had been doing? Had they been retired, or been in a disbanded regiment and then unable to find further work soldiering?

Whatever the reason, they did not seem to care that they were about to hurt soldiers. Men who they would once have called brother. Men who they might have fought side by side within battle. None of that mattered to the mercenaries. The money would be what motivated the men now. D'Artagnan despised them. He could understand them, but he still did not agree with them.

Two of the men aimed their guns through the bars of the cell. One man aiming at Porthos and one at Athos. The door was unlocked by the leader and pulled open. He stood in the gap for a few seconds. He looked at them each again, in a similar fashion as he had earlier. He paused when his gaze reached Aramis and nodded.

The three men who had joined the leader stepped into the cell as the leader moved aside. Two of them advanced on Aramis. The third levelled his gun at d'Artagnan, aiming squarely at his chest. D'Artagnan held his hands out slightly to the sides to show that he was not about to move.

The two who were moving towards Aramis reached forward and grabbed him. Aramis had taken a couple of steps back as he was approached. Despite knowing that they were likely to die, it had been a natural reaction. Aramis' instinct for survival had kicked in. The men grabbed him firmly, one on each side of him and pulled him out of the cell. D'Artagnan could see the fear in his friend's eyes. D'Artagnan knew it would be reflected in his own. None of them wanted to be hurt or killed, they just accepted that it was going to happen.

A slight movement to his left caused d'Artagnan to glance at Porthos and Athos. Porthos, ever the protective brother, had taken a step forward, towards Aramis. D'Artagnan could tell Porthos would have liked to charge at the men, tear them apart with his bare hands. But he also knew that was unlikely to help them. If they were to stand even a sliver of a chance of escape, they could not jeopardise themselves. Athos had reached across and lay a gentle restraining hand on Porthos' arm, stilling the man. Porthos did not advance any further as Aramis was taken from them. D'Artagnan could see regret in Athos' expression. Athos would probably have liked to join Porthos in attacking the men. But the chances of them all being killed was too high.

They would die for the information if they had to, but their mission was to deliver the information. If they could escape, even if it was not all of them, that was their priority, even if it meant leaving Aramis, or any of them, behind.

Aramis did not speak as he was dragged away, other than briefly seeing his face d'Artagnan could not see what was happening. Their brother was dragged out of view. He had seen that there were other cells beside theirs. Aramis must have been forced into the one next to them. D'Artagnan hated to imagine what might be in the cell.

Causing a man pain was a good method to loosen his tongue. He knew Aramis would not talk easily under torture. It would be much harder for them to hear their brother being tortured. Aramis could stand a lot of pain, but he would not be able to remain quiet. He would cry out eventually, and they would have to listen to it. They would have to listen to it and not respond, not give in to the temptation to talk; to save their brother.

A few scuffling noises came from the next cell before it went quiet. Had they restrained Aramis in some way?

The leader had closed their cell door, turning the key in the lock, all the time looking at them each in turn. He stepped back from the cell door and looked in the direction Aramis had been taken for a few seconds.

The man nodded to one of the gunmen who moved out of sight, towards Aramis, raising his weapon as he went.

'Talk now or he dies,' said the leader, looking back into the cell, stepping towards them again.

Horrified, d'Artagnan realised what the man was going to do. He was going to use Aramis as a starting point. There was to be no torture, no drawn out pain for their brother. There was to be only death. A bullet to the head no doubt.

D'Artagnan stared at the man, he could not bring himself to glance at Athos and Porthos. He knew they would be feeling the same. They were not going to see their friend alive again. How long would it be before one of them followed?

The leader looked at them all carefully for a few more seconds before he stepped back again. He paused for a second looking in the direction Aramis had been forced to go. The man nodded once.

The gunshot was loud in the stone cellar. Unusually, he jumped at the sound. D'Artagnan used to jump at the sound of gunfire, but he had been a Musketeer long enough for it not to affect him anymore.

But not this time. This time he flinched. He was aware of both Porthos and Athos reacting to the sound as well.

As the echo of the fatal shot faded away, he heard something fall to the ground. A body hitting the stone.

MMMM

 **Authors note: Please stick with it...trust me. I would have warned you if it was necessary.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Porthos was not even aware of what he was yelling. He knew both Athos and d'Artagnan were pulling him back from the bars. He knew whatever it was he yelled would make no difference. Yelling would not bring his friend back.

He had known as soon as the men had grabbed Aramis. He had known as his best friend was dragged away, the brief eye contact they shared the only goodbye they were to have.

This was no battlefield. This was not one or both of them dying in battle. Honourable. Fighting for their King and Country.

No this was Aramis being executed in a futile attempt to get the rest of them to talk.

Aramis had saved his life countless times. Aramis had his back. Aramis was always there.

Now he was gone.

Porthos stopped trying to pull away from his brothers. It was not right for him to make himself the centre of attention. They would be hurting as well. They would be suffering as much as him. As the sound of the gunshot faded, they were all thinking the same thing.

Who would be next?

The leader of the men who had taken them was watching the three remaining captives. He looked at them each carefully. Porthos watched him look d'Artagnan up and down before glancing at one of the other men who had arrived with him. The new man curled his lip in what could have been a smile, Porthos was not sure. The leader looked back at his captives for a few seconds before turning towards the next room, where Aramis was. He disappeared from sight for a few moments.

Porthos realised he was breathing hard, Athos still had his arm across his shoulders holding him back. Holding him up? He managed to look at Athos and nodded slightly. Athos released his hold. Porthos stood up straighter, ready for whatever was to come next.

They could hear movement in the next cell. The leader stepped back into view, standing back against the wall. The men with the guns stepped back as well, all three men were looking to their left, towards where Aramis had been shot. After a few seconds, the reason they had stepped back became clear.

One of the other men came into view, dragging Aramis' body along the corridor. The Musketeer's head was tipped away from them. Porthos was glad, he did not think he was ready to see his friend's face. Watching Aramis being pulled past them was chilling. The leader of the men was watching them. Porthos saw the man look at them each again carefully.

Aramis was dragged out of sight further down the corridor of cells. The dragging stopped. The cells were quiet apart from a rustling sound in the far cell, where Aramis had been dragged. The remaining Musketeers stood silently. Porthos glanced at Athos to see him staring at the leader of the men, his expression carefully schooled. D'Artagnan was taking careful steady breaths, he was obviously struggling not to show the emotions that were bubbling under the surface.

The man who had dragged Aramis away reappeared. He was carrying Aramis' doublet and boots, the good quality items would either be used by the mercenaries or perhaps sold for extra money. A perk for the man who had taken on the job of moving the body?

As the man walked back along the corridor Porthos looked down at the man's own boots, wondering if his were in need of replacement. But what drew his attention away from the man were the droplets of blood that laid a tell-tale trail towards Aramis' current resting place.

The leader stepped forward again. The gunmen raised their weapons as a warning to prevent the Musketeers going near the bars of their cell.

'He was the lucky one,' the man said, his voice without emotion, 'his death was quick. The next man will not be lucky. The next man will suffer. He will suffer pain and humiliation.'

The leader shifted his gaze to d'Artagnan. Porthos understood. The man was going to take the youngest of them in the hope that he and Athos would find that harder to deal with. The man did not understand their relationship. They were equals. The fact that d'Artagnan was a few years younger made no difference. Whichever of them was picked the remaining two would react in the same manner.

Or rather, would not react.

The leader spent a few seconds looking at them each again before he spoke.

'The next man will get to spend some time with my friend here. I doubt it will be a pleasant time.'

The man the leader indicated, the same man who had leered at d'Artagnan, took a step forward. Porthos was aware of d'Artagnan shifting slightly under the man's gaze. He did not blame his brother. They all knew what was being alluded to. They also knew it would not, could not, make a difference. What was worse, thought Porthos, was that d'Artagnan would endure whatever happened. He was more of a man than any of the mercenaries who had captured them, who had callously murdered Aramis and were going to assault and kill each of them in turn.

The three Musketeers continued to remain silent. Porthos knew that both of his brothers would be thinking fast, as he was, trying desperately to find a way out of their predicament. But they were three unarmed men against an unknown number of men. If they were to escape they did not know where they were, were more men waiting outside?

The leader of the men watched them all for a few more seconds, his steely gaze quite unreadable. Without another word he turned and walked back up the few steps to the heavy wooden door. The other men followed. They were employing the same tactic, leaving them alone for a few minutes to give them time to think about what was to happen next.

As the door closed d'Artagnan turned to them both. He spoke before either of them could, his words urgent and serious.

'Don't talk. Let them do what they're going to. Don't let Aramis have died in vain. I...I can't imagine what they are going to do...I don't want to but I can guess, as you can as well.'

The Musketeer took a slightly shaky breath before continuing.

'Don't talk. Please.'

He looked them both in the eyes for a few seconds before turning away, his own eyes wet with tears. Porthos wondered who they were for? Aramis, or himself?

'We won't talk,' said Athos quietly, 'and we will not let them do...that to you.'

D'Artagnan turned back from the bars where he had been looking at the drops of blood on the floor.

'I propose that we fight them,' continued Athos. 'I propose that we do not let them take you, or us, easily. It is clear...from what just happened...that they are not playing by any rules. Neither should we. Aramis went quietly because he thought they would torture him and that the time spent on him might have given us time to escape.'

Athos paused, he blinked a few times. Porthos guessed his friend was reliving the moment they all realised their captors were going to kill their brother.

'Like you said, d'Artagnan, let's not let him have died in vain. We fight. We fight hard.'

Porthos sighed, 'it's what he would want us to do. We may not be dying in a big battle, but we'll still be fighting a battle.'

D'Artagnan nodded before turning away again, Porthos watched him wipe his eyes clear of the tears that had not fallen.

They fell into an uneasy silence, Porthos went up to the bars and pulled at them again. He looked along the corridor of cells in both directions. He could just about see the open door of the last cell, the cell where the body of his friend lay. He wondered how long it would be before he joined Aramis in death?

MMMM

The door was pushed open. Athos looked up, watching as the men descended the steps. The leader and the man who had been leering at d'Artagnan led the way. Athos had to admire the way the leader had conducted himself. His plan was clever, but it had one flaw. The leader obviously did not see them as quite as loyal to France as they were. The leader obviously thought they would break when a second of their number was taken. The leader thought that by increasing the threat from a simple execution to what would probably be a sinister assault on their youngest man, he would break the remaining soldiers.

The leader was wrong.

And they were about to show him just how wrong he was.

D'Artagnan shrank away from the door, Porthos moved to stand in front of him, in a protective stance. The leader would probably be pleased with their reaction to his return. Athos stepped forward as if to remonstrate but stopped as one of the gunmen raised his weapon and aimed at him through the bars.

The leader unlocked the cell door, he pulled it open and stood looking at d'Artagnan who had pushed himself into the corner, a look of terror on his face. The leader really looked quite pleased. He stepped aside to allow two of his men to enter the cell. Porthos puffed out his chest and drew himself up to his full height. The second gunman entered behind the two men who were there for d'Artagnan. The gunman stepped to the side, closer to Athos and aimed his gun at Porthos. D'Artagnan let out a whimper of fear from his spot cowering in the corner of the room. The two men moved closer, Porthos took a step towards them. Athos glanced at the smug looking leader, the leader who thought he was about to win his information from the scared young man.

The leader was wrong.

With lightning speed, all three Musketeers moved. D'Artagnan sprang forward and grabbed one of the men before they could grab him, he kicked out at the second man at the same time, catching him on the thigh. Porthos grabbed the second man as he stumbled and flung him around smacking him into the stone wall before grabbing him around the neck and smashing him into the wall a second time. D'Artagnan's fight was a little more sedate, he squeezed his arm around the first man's neck. The man, taken by surprise, scrabbled at d'Artagnan, trying to pull his arm away, trying to scratch at his face, trying anything except the most sensible thing, the man did not reach for the weapons around his waist. As the focus left his eyes, he slumped in d'Artagnan's hold, but the Musketeer maintained the pressure for several more seconds as Porthos pulled the gun from the now unconscious man's belt.

As his brothers had moved, Athos had grabbed the gunman around the shoulders spinning him around. The first gunman, stationed outside the cell, had panicked, taking in the confusion within the cell, he had paused for a second, not knowing where to aim his gun. The pause was fatal. With a swift movement, Athos had grabbed the gun from the second man and fired it at the first gunman who staggered back and collapsed to the floor. Athos flipped the spent weapon and clubbed the second gunman around the head before pushing his limp body towards one of the men who had rushed into the cell as the melee began.

The man, the one who had taken such an interest in d'Artagnan, was confused as he dropped the body to the ground. The moment of hesitation proved unfortunate for him as well. Athos employed the gun a second time to club the man, bringing his knee up to the man's groin in the same moment.

Porthos barrelled passed Athos as he dealt with his man. The angry Musketeer roared at the leader who had taken a couple of steps back, the shock obvious on his face. He had managed to pull a dagger from his belt and held it defensively in front of him. Athos doubted Porthos even registered the blade slicing across his arm, he doubted it had done much damage to his enraged brother, the leather of his doublet would have taken the brunt of the attack. The leader was shoved back into the wall and punched several times to the head and face with a final blow to his stomach before Porthos allowed the man to slump to the floor next to the body of his gunman.

D'Artagnan had not fared quite so well with the second man he took on; a few blows were traded before the younger man had managed to get the upper hand. None of them was above using dirty tricks when the situation called for it. D'Artagnan swept his foot behind the man, tripping him to the floor, the man hit his head on the way down, unconscious before he hit the ground.

The three soldiers looked at each other, panting slightly after the fight for their lives. Athos took in the bruises forming on d'Artagnan's face and the slight tear to Porthos' doublet. They had got off lightly, he thought.

'There may be more of them,' he said looking up to the heavy wooden door for a few seconds before crouching beside the body of the leader. 'Search the bodies, and then we will have to go.'

He looked at Porthos for a few seconds. Porthos nodded slightly before turning to look along the corridor, toward the last cell. The cell where they knew the body of their brother lay. Porthos started to walk towards the cell. He walked slowly, as if to draw out the moments before he paid his last respects. D'Artagnan took a step after Porthos but Athos shook his head. Porthos had to go alone, Athos knew the man would need a few moments to fully come to terms with Aramis' death. D'Artagnan stood quietly watching as Porthos reached the last cell. Athos straightened up, he stood beside d'Artagnan watching silently.

Porthos paused before turning to look into the cell, he stared at the wall at the end of the corridor for several seconds. Athos would not hurry his brother, even though they could not tarry where they were. Some things could not be hurried.

Porthos turned to look into the cell, he blinked a few times. Athos could not work out what had happened, but Porthos' demeanour changed very rapidly. He let out a gasp before stepping forward quickly. He disappeared into the cell. Athos was aware of d'Artagnan hurrying forward. Athos followed.

He reached the cell and looked in, astonished at what he saw. Porthos was knelt beside Aramis. Porthos was not knelt beside the body of their brother. He was knelt beside their unconscious, bound and gagged, brother.

As he stepped into the cell, he watched Porthos gently squeeze Aramis' shoulder, there was no response, but from the look of the bruising and blood to his face, Athos was not surprised. Aramis, who had been stripped of his doublet and boots, was lying on his side, his arms tied tightly behind him, forcing his shoulders back. More rope had been used to bind his ankles and knees. He was gagged firmly with a rag. A nasty cut, still oozing blood sluggishly, and a blossoming bruise across the side of his head explained his continued state of unconsciousness.

'They must 'ave just knocked him out, kicked him maybe, at the same time as the gun was fired,' said Porthos as he started to undo the gag while d'Artagnan worked on the ropes around Aramis' wrists.

'It was part of their plan,' suggested Athos, 'perhaps they were going to gradually separate us and then interrogate us alone, with us not knowing if the others were alive or dead.'

Athos shook his head as he thought of the possible scenarios that would have been used against them. He watched as Porthos gently turned Aramis to lay on his back before running his hands over the injured man's body searching for any other injuries.

'I think it's just 'is head,' concluded the Musketeer, 'but he's cold as well, lying here without his jacket, we need to get him warmed up and cleaned up.'

Athos nodded, 'can you carry him alone? We need to be prepared in case there are more men out there. We do not know what is waiting for us.'

Porthos nodded.

With renewed urgency, Athos and d'Artagnan returned to the bodies of the men that had taken them captive. They searched the pockets of each man and relieved them all of their weapons belts. Once each man had checked and primed their weapons Athos helped Porthos to pull the limp form of Aramis over his shoulder. They turned to the wooden door, Athos paused at the bottom step he looked at Porthos.

'I know,' Porthos said, a slight bitterness to his voice, 'the information is still more important than him. I will leave him if I have to.'

Athos had nothing but sympathy for Porthos, none of them wanted to abandon Aramis, particularly after only just having him returned to them. But if they were forced to fight more men, they would need Porthos' help, and that would mean leaving Aramis to his fate.

Athos climbed the steps and pulled the door open a few inches, he peered out. They were not, as he had expected, in a large house. The door opened onto a small vestibule separating them from the open woodland beyond. He quietly slipped through the door, the dagger in his hand ready. He did not want to draw attention to himself by firing a gun. Silently he looked around the outer doorway. The afternoon sun breaking through the trees to illuminate the area well. They were alone. Athos beckoned his brothers forward as he cautiously stepped out onto the soft earth of the wood. He looked around, spotting horses tied to trees to one side and a burnt down campfire a few yards in front of him.

D'Artagnan paused beside him and took in the scene, 'were they it then?' he asked.

'It appears so. But I would still rather we left the area before we see to Aramis.'

Porthos had obviously decided the same thing as he walked towards the horses carrying their injured brother.

MMMM

They were going to kill him. Just shoot him in the head. There was to be no torture, no attempt to get him to talk or get the others to talk by using him. Aramis did not understand. What good would it do to just kill him?

Why did he ache all over? Why was his head pounding?

Had they beaten him? He did not remember being beaten, they had been taken roughly but none of them had been injured when they were thrown into the cell.

Someone said his name. Had one of his brothers called out to him as they waited for him to be killed?

He opened his eyes slowly. Why had he closed them? When had he closed them?

'Aramis?'

Porthos was leaning over him, a look of concern on his face. Aramis tried to focus on his friend.

'Are we...dead?'

Porthos smiled, 'no Aramis, we are not dead. You are not waking up in the afterlife to find us all with you.'

A hand cupped the back of his head, Aramis could not help a moan as the slight movement caused the pounding to increase. A water skin was pressed to his lips, he took a few sips before it was taken away from him.

'You're safe,' said Porthos, the smile from a few seconds ago gone from his face, 'sleep. We are here.'

Although he had not seen either Athos or d'Artagnan he had no reason to doubt Porthos. He closed his eyes again and welcomed the comfort of sleep.

He knew he would get explanations when he woke fully, but at that moment knowing he was safe and that his brothers were all alive was enough.

The End.

 **Authors note: I hope you enjoyed it.**


End file.
